Day 1072 and 1073. Today Mrs Best Owner is in the shed, and she is looking at Mr Best Owner with a rather puzzled frown. " So, what's wrong?" she asks. "Nothing." replies Mr. B.O. " Are you feeling under the weather?" she says "No." She looks at him. " Are you sure you're not sickening for something?" "No, I'm fine." he replies. There is a pause. " Well, are you eating properly, then?" she says " Yes, of course." he replies. " No one's hidden your little amaretto biscuits? You haven't run out of duck tape, or anything?" "Nope." " Coffee ok? Doesn't taste of concrete like it did when you had that 'bit of trouble'?" " No, no, everything's fine. Why do you keep asking if I'm ok?" " Well because you don't seem to have done anything stupid or fucked up anything this week! It's so unlike you! You have been.......fairly......normal." says Mrs B. O. There is a pause. " Shit............have I really, darling?" says Mr B. O. with a puzzled look. " Yes, I'm worried about you!" says Mrs B.O. "Haven't you felt the urge to sack someone or employ an imbecile all week? How about ranting on a message board?" "No......I haven't..." he replies. " Good God....." she says. " Quickly, say huh!" " Huh?" " Well, at least it IS you. But we must keep a careful eye on this weird, meaning unique development...." Tune in next week to find out if our hero is indeed a changed man. Will he buy new shoes? Will he attend a game? Or will he be advising the Interim Head Coach to man the midfield with Killer Robots? Anything can happen in the next half hour.... He's still here Oh fuck......
I'm worried about you @3blokes. That's 3 days of just 'oh fuck'. Sometimes you add something else.
How about oh fuck shit and bollocks? Actually, I am thinking about having an OH FUCK shit and bollocks bring your own swear word week next week. What do you think ,as it's Christmas, you know, season of goodwill and all that....
I'm worried about you @3blokes. That's 3 days of just 'oh fuck'. Sometimes you add something else.
How about oh fuck shit and bollocks? Actually, I am thinking about having an OH FUCK shit and bollocks bring your own swear word week next week. What do you think ,as it's Christmas, you know, season of goodwill and all that....
Winter draws on Roland is pants Katrien's knickers in a twist where is our G-string spot Each manager's tenure are so briefs Charlton fans sing an angry Thong We air our dirty Laundry in Public A basket case are wee........
Day 1079 and 1080. (Due to an unexpected outbreak of late night drinking, the next exciting adventures of The Best Weird Owner Of A Football Club Ever might be a bit delayed.) He's still here. Oh fuck .....(my head)....
Day 1079 and 1080. It is another Saturday morning and Mrs Best Owner Of A Football Club Ever is in the shed looking at Mr Best Owner Of A Football Club Ever. " You've been in here for the last 3 days. What's going on?" " Darling........ I have had another one of my visionary ideas!" says Mr B.O, excitedly. " Oh..............fuck." says Mrs B.O. "What is it?" " I want to go on national TV and talk about the little ant people!" "Oh God.....no, don't do that....." gasps Mrs B.O. " I want to explain to them why they are all a bunch of shits." says Mr. B.O. "People will understand when I explain my vision of them!" " Oh Jesus, he's really gone this time..." mutters Mrs B.O, taking out a small phial and slipping it into his coffee. "And then I want to take over...... Father Christmas!" says Mr B.O, his eyes shining. "We'll make a huge profit I'll sell the elves off to the premier stores and..... "Drink your coffee, dear." insists Mrs B. O. The Best Owner gulps it down and within two minutes he is slumped over his desk. "There, that's more like it, dear." says Mrs B.O with a smile. " Now the Christmas festivities can begin!" Unfortunately, not all important owners of football clubs have wives who can drug them before they can go on national TV and make arses of themselves, but that's just how the little amaretto biscuit crumbles... Let's leave The B.O drifting in his world of fantasy, and let's all try to be a little more stupid next year. He's still here. Oh fuck.....
Day 1084. Well the disaster continues. One definition of stupid is "to show poor judgement." Poor judgement has been demonstrated that over and over again at this club under the current owner. That's serial stupid. One day he WILL be gone. But for now he's still here. Oh fuck......
Day 1086 and 1087. It is Saturday morning and The Least Stupid Owner Of A Football Club Ever is in the tv studio about to be interviewed. His PR team are going through things one final time. "Right," says Mr. PR, " now try and stay nice and relaxed, big happy smile, and try not to say anything stu-....er.....anything derogatory about the... fans....or anything, ok?" Mr. B.O nods. He gets the signal the interview is ready to start. The TV host and B.O. settle into their seats, and the host turns confidently to address the camera. "Good morning." he says. "YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" yells the B.O. The host looks at him aghast. "What?" Mr. PR steps forward. "Sorry, is there any chance, we could just start that again?" he says. He turns to the B.O. " Er, Boss.." " What?" says The B.O. " Did he muff his line?" Mr. PR rubs his hand over his chin. "No, do you remember, we weren't going to call anyone stupid, were we?....or anything like that....this time...yes?" he says patiently. The B.O looks at him. "Oh......did one slip out?." says the B.O. "I'm afraid it did." replies Mr PR. The B.O turns to the host. "Oh...erm... sorry.." says The B.O. " I was just ...er..clearing my throat." The host gives him a look and turns back to the camera. "Right..ok....let's go again.." he composes himself and turns to the camera. "Hello. Well, this morning, we are joined by-" "YOU FUCKING ACTIVIST!!" The host looks up at the ceiling and stops. There is a pause. The B.O looks round. " I did it again, didn't I.." he says. "Could we dub in a sneeze or something over it?" The host lets out a sigh. "Right. Let's try it ONE more time...on the count of three....one...two-" " EVERYONE'S A FUCKING IDIOT EXCEPT ME!!" yells The B.O. Mr PR puts his head in his hands. The host looks at B.O. " What?" he says. The B.O looks at him, and glances round at the PR team, who are all staring at the floor. " Well, there's one, for a start!" he says defensively, pointing at someone off screen. "Look at him! Look! He keeps staring at me, like some sort of thick twat! The host turns round. " That's the cameraman." he says. "Oh." says the B.O. He looks round and points somewhere else. " Well, what about her, over there? She looks like a cretin! " That's the producer!" says the host. " She has two degrees and speaks 12 languages fluently. She built her own enigma machine out of cardboard." " Huh! She might be a member of CARD though. Whatever that is." says the B.O. The host stares at him, with a small smile. " Yes," he says, "Tell us about CARD." " No, boss no!" yells Mr PR from off stage. But it is too late. The B.O. is off. "Well, they are black ants who have assumed human form! Fiends! Devil worshipping activists! Infidels! Ingrates! Hideous CARDashian monsters! And they are everywhere!" The B.O suddenly stares at the host in a strange way. "WHY... YOU'RE....ONE OF THEM TOO!!" he yells. And with that he suddenly leaps at the host and grabs him by the throat. " Quick, get that....pilchard off the stage!" shouts Mr PR. Security steps in ( they are wearing proper identity passes you'll be pleased to hear) and there is an unseemly scuffle. As he is carried away to have a "rest, because he is rather tired", an emotional B.O can be heard yelling : " MIND THE BLOODY DUCK TAPED SHOES, YOU STUPID ANT BASTARDS!" Let's leave him hopefully to calm down and let's all give a hearty Christmas wish that he will soon be resting.......in peace and quiet. It IS the season of goodwill to all men, after all. (But in his case, I think we can make an exception.) Anyway, Merry Christmas, even though he's still here. Oh fuck.....
Karl Cratchit Robbo went to see his Boss Roland Scrooge.
Karl: Good morning, Please sir we need some more; Players
Roland: Huh, Humbug.
Karl: When the January windows opens we need to invest in some championship quality or we will be doomed for more misery in League 1 or even lower.
Roland: Huh, I will get my "Nephew" Tomas to have a look around the dregs of the European Leagues to find a couple of new players who will improve the team. Did i explain to you how to play 4-4-2, young Karl Cratchit, You little scallywag.
Narrator: Roland Scrooge was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.
Karl Cratchit: What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough.” Oh Fuck..................
Comments
He' s still here.
Oh fuck....
Today Mrs Best Owner is in the shed, and she is looking at Mr Best Owner with a rather puzzled frown.
" So, what's wrong?" she asks.
"Nothing." replies Mr. B.O.
" Are you feeling under the weather?" she says
"No."
She looks at him.
" Are you sure you're not sickening for something?"
"No, I'm fine." he replies.
There is a pause.
" Well, are you eating properly, then?" she says
" Yes, of course." he replies.
" No one's hidden your little amaretto biscuits? You haven't run out of duck tape, or anything?"
"Nope."
" Coffee ok? Doesn't taste of concrete like it did when you had that 'bit of trouble'?"
" No, no, everything's fine. Why do you keep asking if I'm ok?"
" Well because you don't seem to have done anything stupid or fucked up anything this week! It's so unlike you! You have been.......fairly......normal." says Mrs B. O.
There is a pause.
" Shit............have I really, darling?" says Mr B. O. with a puzzled look.
" Yes, I'm worried about you!" says Mrs B.O. "Haven't you felt the urge to sack someone or employ an imbecile all week? How about ranting on a message board?"
"No......I haven't..." he replies.
" Good God....." she says. " Quickly, say huh!"
" Huh?"
" Well, at least it IS you. But we must keep a careful eye on this weird, meaning unique development...."
Tune in next week to find out if our hero is indeed a changed man.
Will he buy new shoes? Will he attend a game? Or will he be advising the Interim Head Coach to man the midfield with Killer Robots?
Anything can happen in the next half hour....
He's still here
Oh fuck......
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
He's still here.
Oh fuck .....
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
Actually, I am thinking about having an OH FUCK shit and bollocks bring your own swear word week next week.
What do you think ,as it's Christmas, you know, season of goodwill and all that....
Oh neuken....
He's still here.
Ho fuck ( seasonal variation)
I'm guessing Roland will be in his shed for a large part of it.
Wearing a purple Xmas hat.
Meanwhile at the Charlton staff Christmas party.
House music....?
Roland is pants
Katrien's knickers in a twist
where is our G-string spot
Each manager's tenure are so briefs
Charlton fans sing an angry Thong
We air our dirty Laundry in Public
A basket case are wee........
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
(Due to an unexpected outbreak of late night drinking, the next exciting adventures of The Best Weird Owner Of A Football Club Ever might be a bit delayed.)
He's still here.
Oh fuck .....(my head)....
It is another Saturday morning and Mrs Best Owner Of A Football Club Ever is in the shed looking at Mr Best Owner Of A Football Club Ever.
" You've been in here for the last 3 days. What's going on?"
" Darling........ I have had another one of my visionary ideas!" says Mr B.O, excitedly.
" Oh..............fuck." says Mrs B.O. "What is it?"
" I want to go on national TV and talk about the little ant people!"
"Oh God.....no, don't do that....." gasps Mrs B.O.
" I want to explain to them why they are all a bunch of shits." says Mr. B.O. "People will understand when I explain my vision of them!"
" Oh Jesus, he's really gone this time..." mutters Mrs B.O, taking out a small phial and slipping it into his coffee.
"And then I want to take over...... Father Christmas!" says Mr B.O, his eyes shining. "We'll make a huge profit I'll sell the elves off to the premier stores and.....
"Drink your coffee, dear." insists Mrs B. O.
The Best Owner gulps it down and within two minutes he is slumped over his desk.
"There, that's more like it, dear." says Mrs B.O with a smile. " Now the Christmas festivities can begin!"
Unfortunately, not all important owners of football clubs have wives who can drug them before they can go on national TV and make arses of themselves, but that's just how the little amaretto biscuit crumbles...
Let's leave The B.O drifting in his world of fantasy, and let's all try to be a little more stupid next year.
He's still here.
Oh fuck.....
He's still here, oozing charm.
Oh fuck....
He's still here.
Oh fuck.....
Make it stop.
Now we know how Terry Waite and John Mccarthy felt.
And then he goes and spoils it all by saying something stupid like we're stuuuuuuupid....
He's still here.
Oh fuck.....
So a festive
He's still here
Jingle oh fuck
Well the disaster continues.
One definition of stupid is "to show poor judgement."
Poor judgement has been demonstrated that over and over again at this club under the current owner. That's serial stupid.
One day he WILL be gone.
But for now he's still here.
Oh fuck......
He's still here.
Oh fuck.....
It is Saturday morning and The Least Stupid Owner Of A Football Club Ever is in the tv studio about to be interviewed. His PR team are going through things one final time.
"Right," says Mr. PR, " now try and stay nice and relaxed, big happy smile, and try not to say anything stu-....er.....anything derogatory about the... fans....or anything, ok?"
Mr. B.O nods.
He gets the signal the interview is ready to start.
The TV host and B.O. settle into their seats, and the host turns confidently to address the camera.
"Good morning." he says.
"YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" yells the B.O.
The host looks at him aghast.
"What?"
Mr. PR steps forward.
"Sorry, is there any chance, we could just start that again?" he says.
He turns to the B.O.
" Er, Boss.."
" What?" says The B.O. " Did he muff his line?"
Mr. PR rubs his hand over his chin.
"No, do you remember, we weren't going to call anyone stupid, were we?....or anything like that....this time...yes?" he says patiently.
The B.O looks at him.
"Oh......did one slip out?." says the B.O.
"I'm afraid it did." replies Mr PR.
The B.O turns to the host.
"Oh...erm... sorry.." says The B.O. " I was just ...er..clearing my throat."
The host gives him a look and turns back to the camera.
"Right..ok....let's go again.." he composes himself and turns to the camera. "Hello. Well, this morning, we are joined by-"
"YOU FUCKING ACTIVIST!!"
The host looks up at the ceiling and stops.
There is a pause.
The B.O looks round.
" I did it again, didn't I.." he says. "Could we dub in a sneeze or something over it?"
The host lets out a sigh.
"Right. Let's try it ONE more time...on the count of three....one...two-"
" EVERYONE'S A FUCKING IDIOT EXCEPT ME!!" yells The B.O.
Mr PR puts his head in his hands.
The host looks at B.O.
" What?" he says.
The B.O looks at him, and glances round at the PR team, who are all staring at the floor.
" Well, there's one, for a start!" he says defensively, pointing at someone off screen. "Look at him! Look! He keeps staring at me, like some sort of thick twat!
The host turns round.
" That's the cameraman." he says.
"Oh." says the B.O. He looks round and points somewhere else. " Well, what about her, over there? She looks like a cretin!
" That's the producer!" says the host. " She has two degrees and speaks 12 languages fluently. She built her own enigma machine out of cardboard."
" Huh! She might be a member of CARD though. Whatever that is." says the B.O.
The host stares at him, with a small smile.
" Yes," he says, "Tell us about CARD."
" No, boss no!" yells Mr PR from off stage.
But it is too late. The B.O. is off.
"Well, they are black ants who have assumed human form! Fiends! Devil worshipping activists! Infidels! Ingrates! Hideous CARDashian monsters! And they are everywhere!"
The B.O suddenly stares at the host in a strange way.
"WHY... YOU'RE....ONE OF THEM TOO!!" he yells.
And with that he suddenly leaps at the host and grabs him by the throat.
" Quick, get that....pilchard off the stage!" shouts Mr PR.
Security steps in ( they are wearing proper identity passes you'll be pleased to hear) and there is an unseemly scuffle.
As he is carried away to have a "rest, because he is rather tired", an emotional B.O can be heard yelling :
" MIND THE BLOODY DUCK TAPED SHOES, YOU STUPID ANT BASTARDS!"
Let's leave him hopefully to calm down and let's all give a hearty Christmas wish that he will soon be resting.......in peace and quiet. It IS the season of goodwill to all men, after all.
(But in his case, I think we can make an exception.)
Anyway, Merry Christmas, even though he's still here.
Oh fuck.....
Karl Cratchit Robbo went to see his Boss Roland Scrooge.
Karl:
Good morning, Please sir we need some more; Players
Roland:
Huh, Humbug.
Karl:
When the January windows opens we need to invest in some championship quality or we will be doomed for more misery in League 1 or even lower.
Roland:
Huh, I will get my "Nephew" Tomas to have a look around the dregs of the European Leagues to find a couple of new players who will improve the team. Did i explain to you how to play 4-4-2, young Karl Cratchit,
You little scallywag.
Narrator:
Roland Scrooge was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.
Karl Cratchit:
What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough.”
Oh Fuck..................